


Sleeplessness

by lodessa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Nightmares, Written during Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:12:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lodessa/pseuds/lodessa
Summary: An exploration of what it is that keeps Jaime up at night.





	Sleeplessness

Her arm is heavy, solid across him with the dead weight of sleep. Brienne sleeps soundly, unlike him with his ghosts and his bad dreams. Jaime doesn’t begrudge her it. She deserves that peace, that solace and respite. He doesn’t. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve this either: the treasure of being in her bed, the honor of her choice to accept him, the trust she’s given him. But he is grateful, grateful for this gift, grateful to have the opportunity to lie here awake and gaze at her at his leisure without making her conscious of it. 

She rolls, nestling herself closer against his side, and he turns his face towards her, pressing his lips against her straw colored hair. He breathes in the scent of her, not perfumed but clean and welcoming, and closes his eyes, willing sleep to come so that he does not find himself abed while she is up and about for the day. 

He places his hand over hers, resting above his heart, and calls up the memory of the passion so recently shared between them, something that is now a daily occurrence but still feels like a miracle every time. _Jaime_ , she’d said in a hushed tone, soft and low and nothing like she once called him Kingslayer, as she writhed astride him, those bright blue eyes locked on his. 

That recollection and the comfort of her there with him help him drift towards unconsciousness, which he only realizes he has reached as he jerks back awake, heart pounding and sweat drenching his brow. 

_On second thought_ , Cersei’s sharp laugh from his nightmare echoes in his mind, _I find I am glad that imbecile mercenary of yours didn’t give you a quick death, not now when I get to make you watch her die… slowly._

He reminds himself that his sister is about to be besieged in King’s Landing, that there are multiple armies between her and them, that even if she were foolish enough to try Brienne is more than capable of taking care of herself, of them both. 

_She wouldn’t rely on a fair fight_ , a frightened voice insists, _poison is a far safer and surer fate and Cersei knows it._

He tries again, reminding himself of Daenerys with her dragon and her armies, of the northern forces. Sansa was right, though, he can’t help thinking, the troops are tired and Cersei’s mercenaries will have the fortified position. 

Once again he tries to force his attention back to something else. Glancing to the side, he studies Brienne’s profile once more, how much softer it seems now when she is not holding close as armor for some anticipated jab.

What a reckless fool he has been, stumbling into this chamber that first night, babbling on about the heat and Tyrion’s drinking game and Tormund fucking Giantsbane. It had been enough though, his ardent desperation and inability to hide his motivations any further. He wonders, even, if his inelegance might have played in his favor. After all, his fumbling had been too inept to be pretense, even given Brienne’s understandable tendency to assume that was the default motivation of everyone she met.

She’d rescued him from his own ineptitude that night, but now he wonders who will rescue her when his recklessness comes crashing down around them both. _Please_ , he begs of gods he’s never found reason to believe in, _Please, let me do right by her._

“Jaime?” Brienne’s eyes open and she turns her face towards him, “Another bad dream?”

She doesn’t sound like she’s criticizing his predisposition to these midnight terrors. No, she is earnest as always, never making him feel as though he is childish in this.

“What can I say,” he admits, “I have a knack for them.”

What he means is he was sixteen when they began in earnest. Cersei told him to grow up when she found out, so he didn’t mention them to her again. He didn’t mention them to anyone again, until Brienne noticed his restless sleep beside her and asked.

“Not every scar is the kind you can see,” Brienne replies, tracing an old battle wound across his side.

“Makes it mighty hard to find and kiss all of yours,” he grins, deflecting the overture to talk about what he is dwelling on, the warmth of her steady affection spreading through him as he reaches over and caresses the healed over gashes from the claws of the bear at Harrenhal.

“These dreams of yours...” Her voice sounds smaller than usual. “They aren’t because you regret this?”

“Regret this…” It takes him a moment to realize what she’s saying, remember that Brienne has fears of her own. “No,” he assures her, “If anything these most recent ones are from quite the opposite.”

“I do not understand,” she says and he believes her.

“Neither do I,” he shrugs and turns to kiss her instead.

She clings to him, like she’s afraid to let go, like he might disappear, but it is never rough. Gentle and strong, Brienne meets his need for her with an abandon he never thought to find outside the battlefield. 

How can he tell her what consumes his thoughts? How can he let the spectre of Cersei cast a shadow over this happiness they have finally found in the light of increasing dawns?

**Author's Note:**

> This was written between the airing of 8x04 and 8x05 when I was still grasping at hope. It was my attempt to make sense of what happened at the end of 8x04. Consider it canon or AU as you so like.


End file.
